I hate when smug grrrrrrrassbags hear about a computerrrr problem and say "oh, well, you should have made backups." How am I supposed to make backups when I only ever get a new computerrrrr to replace one tthat looks like it's about to brrrrrrrreak? I don't work forrr the goverrrrnmentt. I have a flash drrive, but not of comparrrrrable sttorrrrrrrage capacity. I'd have to continually rrrrrreevaluate which 512 megabytes were most imporrrtanttt, and I can't do that, because the only things I make are of negligible imporrrrrrrrtance. This, I'm typing this frrom tthe old computerrr, the handicapped computerrrrrrr, frrom 2001, the seniorr citizen, the computer that should have exploded yearrrrrrrrs ago. Oh, the irrrrrrrony. Why would I have made backup files on this pile of paperrclips? I actually deleted files off of this one when I found the new one because itt was contttinually whining about "low disk space" due to some crrrrazy errrrrorrrrrrr in which it would grrrrrrradually forget more and more of how much frree space it had. Also, it would seem that whoever continued using this one aftter I stopped spilled chocolatte syrrup between the 'T' and 'RRR' keys. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh.

Does this say "adult swim" on it because it looks like it was designed, animated and written by drowning children? This is quite possibly the worst cartoon I've ever seen. Yes, even worse than The Sinister Prime Minister. Warning: obnoxious, cluttered youtube page. This is what I've been reduced to. Looking for cartoons on television and linking to the most linked to pages on the internet. I might as well buy a Halo X-Box and a 56-count case of ramen noodle cups and one of those shirts where the sleeves are a different color from the middle part. Gosh, I need to hurry up and identify my most shameful personal vice and join some club of people who have invented a stupid name for it and redefined it as a positive attribute. WHERE IS MY PERMALINK? WHERE IS MY TRACKBACK? EVERYONE WANTS TO LINK TO THIS CONTENTLESS BLUHBLUHBLOG ENTRY! LOOK AT MY POSSIBLY IRONIC BUT WHO KNOWS REALLY CAPS LOCK TYPE! THIS IS INTERNET HUMOR! UNF UNF AND HURRGH HURRGH DON'T YOU KNOW!My r key is still stuck, by the way. I'm just deleting the clones now. That is morrrrre than this page probably deserves.

Of course I would realize just now that I forgot to finish drawing the thing's neck.

Saturday, Octoberr 7, 2006

old murders are like old bones  I dig them up

As I never forget a failure, I can always think of something bad I've done to deserve anything bad that is done to me. However, I realized recently that it is by no being's intentional manipulation that I am in this situation.

If there was any justice at all, I would not still be seeing this man, and I most certainly would not still be hearing that dreadful ten-second, forever repeating fake-whistle music. Ha ha, wood, I get it. As in: I "wood" like to throw a log at Bob and whoever operates the artificial, repetitive whistle music machine. I remember a few months back when another brand of these things, or maybe this one, like it's worth keeping track of, warned that any man mens who experienced erectile function for longer than four hours should call a doctor, and then the joke, which never got any less funny was that "if I had an erection for four hours I'd be calling everybody!" No, no you wouldn't! You would be in pain. Not being able to expel waste fluid on its own was enough to kill a few mangled eunuchs back in the good old days of China. But also, you wouldn't be able to dress properly, you would have to re-estimate how close you could walk near anything, you'd probably have frequent headaches, and as Bob here proves, despite its indicated direction, it turns you into a colossal ass. But then, you'd probably deserve it, because you've told a lot of jokes I hate.

Well well well. And where have you been?

Why would google want to own youtube? I can't fathom how it ever makes any money, holding so many gigabytes of junk for free, that any idiot can access from any web page. I similarly don't follow how it would make money even with more ads, because one of these things couldn't very well reach out and place advertisements on the pages that are playing them. Not yet, anyway. True, the ones that play on web-pages don't have the full screen option, and you actually have to go to the youtube website where the ads are to access such a thing, but it would seem that most people who aren't me have no problem with that. Elsewise, they wouldn't keep putting youtube clips on webpages. So this means ads will probably be embedded into the youtuberies themselves where they will be much harder to not notice, and if you'll put up with 60% of the screen not moving, you'll probably take this as well. I hate you. Who clicks ads, anyway? Do I misjudge consumers as a whole, even the ones I hate, or are the people who believe in that business, especially as it pertains to the internet, totally out of touch with reality?

People in the actual television business love youtube.
Consider that if they made those videos, however content devoid and badly produced they are, themselves, they would have to pay numerous people quite a bit. Now they can just lap it up, graft a stupid logo in a corner and croak it out as much as they want quite for free, while still collecting a salary. I have seen a couple of different shows soliciting viewer submitted digital diapermeat of this sort, and some of them even offer something resembling a consolation prize for winners. Doesn't that work so well for everybody. TV people aren't even pretending they have some special skill due to which they get the big bucks and "we" don't. It was bad enough when they just followed random links on eebay for a few minutes and called it a day, but nothing impressive could ever come from that. Similarly, three seconds of crudely manipulated cat photographs looped for four minutes over a lead zeppelin song was actually Rather Bad. Now they don't even have to search for stuff. It's all right there in the same place, with an appropriately stupid name. I don't like that the only allowable alternative to "my" is "you." Also, almost no one who isn't an idiot has called a television set a "tube" in my lifetime, and I haven't yet exited demographic age.

I don't know what the legal ramifications of the purchase are, and I don't know what the legal ramifications of anything are, because legal ramifications are designed to not be known to maximize their potential to squash anyone who doesn't have the time, patience or comprehensive capabilities to figure them out, nor the money to pay someone who does.

In addition to bad vhs transfers of the Snorks introduction at least five people taped for who-knows-why* off real television sets 15 years ago and put on the site in a sure, unchecked violation of something, there are also a lot of clips that are just some idiots' heads saying stuff. Why even turn the camera on if you're not doing anything? I will gladly accept your stockpile of AA batteries if you don't need them! Arrrgh, and who watches these? At no time in the history of film have there ever been more persons actively working to record nothing happening. I would rather watch time-lapse filmage of a flower without the time-lapse than a "video blog." Great gimpity, I would rather watch film of someone reading a text "blog" than have myself view a video blog. Oh death beyond death, I would rather watch Snorks than a video blog (I'm still debating Smurfs). However, I'm not going to do any of those things. While there seem to thankfully be considerably more "1st video blog"s than "2nd video blog"s, I don't think there would be any sequels at all if someone wasn't watching them. Probably the same people who think everyone clicks advertisements.

*I confess that the dutch one is endurable, because it has a different song and only shows the actual snorkels for about 10 seconds, but otherwise there's no excuse for that sort of behaviour.

For the sake of time, I will assume that "staged" refers to some sort of event or event sequence being made to appear happen through artificial means, though not necessarily upon an actual stage. I will also assume "911" refers to certain occurences of the date September the eleventh of AD2001, rather than those of all September elevenths, or even the dates themselves. As well, the common emergency service telephone dial code nine one one, or the number nine-hundred-eleven, I do not consider. Yes yes, the occurence of a couple of airplanes striking a couple of large structures and one pile of dirt, destroying and killing most involved. If your focal point was that the number 911 was fake, you would be a lunatic nutball and no one would listen to you.

A third possibility, I have misread and this only indicates that "Hi" was staged, which I must also rule out, as I have personally suffered a great deal of stress and torment at the nefarious doings of alleged Beetle Bailey spinoff Hi and Lois.

It is at this time that I wonder, who is more open-minded and capable of accepting new ideas than people who choose websites to view based on their proximity to public toilets? And who is more deep-thinking and perceptive than a person who writes one in such a place? So what really happened? What else could have happened? The buildings broke, didn't they? The only other possibility is that they were never there at all.

Sadly, the website only goes so far as to blame the breakings on different people. And as the website claims to be "now in [its] thirteenth year," be there any truth to that, I must believe that the whole thing is not just some random collection of whiny whiners who came together fairly recently, trying to get attention by grasping at any slight indication that George Wabbush is the most evil and sinister being ever conceived (even if the person who wrote on the wall is), like was so common a whiners' grievance with every US president ever. Further, if more people were skeptical of more things they were told, the world would surely be better off. However,

this is not the way to look like the sane birds on the roof. Why don't you question our president's painting skills while you're at it?
I will assume, once again, that this person reports similarities of the two militaristic state heads and finds them indeed quite similar. It wouldn't be news, even to crazy people, if someone compared George Doubleyew Bush to a graham cracker and found them totally unlike each other. So.

George Bush may be an unfortunate oaf surrounded by other oafs, but he's not a genociderist, nor does he aspire to be one. While he may think wrong things that result in many deaths are a good idea and in the best interest of everyone, for the most part he prefers as few deaths as possible for people he doesn't think are criminals, and they only result from bad planning, rather than bad intent. He and his friends keep secrets about what they are doing because, first, they are increasingly more embarrassed at their bad plans, and second, they think we're really dumb. It is not because they want to rule the world by blowing up all the parts they don't rule. Even if, even if Mr. President is a secret maniac, he does not have the popular support to get away with proclaiming himself Caesar, because too much of the public is tired of the president thinking it's dumb. The persistent, overpowering dumbness of the population segments that would be entirely in favor of genocide still only gets them one vote each regardless of how much git r done merchandise it sells, so a pro-genocide presidential candidate would not be nominated by any majority of maniacal, pro-genocide, hitleresque committee members.

Friday, October 13, which I seriously noticed nothing special about before people wouldn't stop pointing it out to me, 2006

I'm always working on something, just not always something justifiable.

Action!

Excitement!

Apparent lack of movement!

This, this is an ultimate fight. Two largely indistinguishable, nearly nude, shaven men twitching about on the ground for 10 minutes.

While the gladiator who looks to have sat on a box of Crayola "fluorescent" crayons tap-out submitted to something the other person did shortly after this, since I can't tell what, if anything, they're doing when like that, I wasn't paying attention. This sort of thing is why professional wrestling is fake (and I think it should be faker than it is). Even though the match only lasted a bit over two minutes with theoretically 12.eh minutes to spare, it went immediately into a commercial break which was longer than the fight. When the show returned, more men confirmed the end we had just seen and sent us into another pretty much identical commercial break. Sure, I Muted it, like all others (the worthless announcers make me wonder why I had ever unmuted, quite honestly), but it shouldn't have been there at all. It's not like I can call in to vote for anything.

Also, despite that, the arena, the fighters themselves, and even the timer, a simple device which I would have assumed could be paid for out-of-pocket by the mustiest vagrant in the room, bear ads for all sorts of things I would not buy and websites I would never go to. If you want to learn more about online gambling or bottled goops and pills which by description sound like steroids but I must only assume are something different, then first, I hate you, second, you obviously don't have an e-mail address, and third, you already missed this show.

I continued pseudo-watching while more interested in something computer related I as doing, like this, which sounds like it should be much more boring, because I had convinced myself "ehhh, well, those who you have seen are not the Big Stars. They are not the ones who have been fighting in an ultimate fashion over many years. The ones at the end, the main event, the ones the show is named after, they will fight with all their might." So then after about ten more minutes of commercial break, empty buildup, hallway walks, indescribably lame arena entrances and weight statements by a genuine relative of Michael Buffer, the fight began. And then it was over in less than two minutes, once again far briefer than all things supposedly of subordinate importance. Although the full package was marked to end at 10 pm oclock, since only one fight went the full length (the very first), and surely the folks in charge would make sure there was adequate time available if they knew the maximum length each fight could last, I expected the broadcast to conclude early. It seemed to end pretty much where it said it would, after two hours. Trickey, trickery!

I remember when I first heard about Ultimate Fighting, coincidentally the same period when I first heard about Pokaymon, whose totally imaginary battles are considerably more enjoyable to watch. It was presented to me as not only "real" fights, but "real"ly brutal fights. Just two oafs hitting each other in all possible ways, what oafs do best, fighting and fighting until one no longer can. None of the arcane rules, constant time-outs, dull yet totally abstract goals that make actual sports unwatchable and absolutely baffling to me. Of course that was a lie, but luckily I was able to wait until this started coming on television for free to find that out. The sad (as far as entertainment is concerned) fact about Real Fights is that they will either have one person senselessly punching the other over and over again and winning really fast or have both people grappling for a really long time, each trying to get the other into punchable position. A real fight simply cannot be exciting for more than a few seconds, because someone getting legitimately beaten up is in too much pain to fight back, and the one applying the beating knows that. The only way other than invisible tests of strength to draw things out and prevent murders (usually) is to prohibit most attacks and make the ones you allow hurt less. That is called "boxing."

(not actual boxing match)

Boxing, to my knowledge, is never on TV for free, and can still be just as boring, because still no one wants to get punched. Once some guy knows he is leading in points, it is in his own best interest to avoid the other combatant until the time runs out, because that is still considered winning. Oh, oh, how can I satisfy my mystifying, primitive desire to see violent competitions? Ah-ha! At 10 pm, exactly when the Ultimate Fight show made sure it ended, the "Boomerang" channel airs episodes of Pokemon!*

It does not get more extreme than this. Intensity, thy name is... drat, I can't remember what your name is. I wish you would tell me.

*Well... it did until three days after I mentioned this. Now all the shows are completely different. Bah.

Some months ago, and maybe some weeks, too, I heard, via setup to monologue jokes of nature contrary to my own angle on insulting the revelation, JK Rowling plans to kill several characters in the final edition of a book series whose title escapes me just now. The big controversy (hence my waiting for the current website title to mention it) is that the one who gets dead could be Harry! Ooooh! It COULD be Harry?! What kind of garbage phony publicity revelation is that? If you think about it, and you clearly are not meant to, that's really about as shocking an announcement as me saying I'm going to eat an apple and it might be green.

Oh, he might die, but he might not! You know would have really been a swerve? If Harold got dead in the second book. Or how about, just maybe, in this final book, but without all this phony hype saying it might happen first. Am I supposed to believe Row-Row received an enchanted telegram from Grifflesgruben or wherever that burst into flames before she could finish reading it? Somehow it doesn't make sense to me that Jaykay wrote up a list of characters who can and cannot die. She knows exactly who it's going to be. That is, unless she writes books via a formula, one of whose steps is "someone must die. Who?" or another person is writing the book.

I say, all of them might as well die, if this is indeed the last time they are being used for anything. And as long we pretend what I say matters, they might as well never have existed, because they've certainly bothered me enough.

The amount of press this sensationally stupid story had is much like how the second a public official person is rumored to have done something bad like stealing ice cream sandwiches, robbing a bank or squeezing the Charmin, it may very well be true! And so it's everyone's business! Whether they want to know or think afterwards that they would have preferred not to!
Every allegation immediately has an amount of credibility if it sounds believable. If I declare right now that George Dubbulyew Bush has wallpaper painted to look like wood, that means it MIGHT be a fact!

By the way, I typed commentarium on this subject quite over a year ago, and forgot what I did with it. I held off complaining anew about this one aspect because I was sure I had already done so, in a grand and splendid fashion, and didn't want to rewrite the new thing to badly incorporate the better old thing, just because I hate to throw anything away. It turns out all I had said was that single lousy remark about wallpaper. Hmmm, yes. I think maintaining a website with this sort of wit and wisdom on it might be worth the trouble.

Saturday, October 21, 2006

He's a Kraut by definition, but he's not a kraut in his heart.

Internet, there may yet be hope for you.

I hate that my brother and his associates, The These Green Eyes, despite having been together for years and years as music band and having proven an ability to attract an audience, dwindle in obscurity, while King White Guy Kevin Federline gets national exposure with his very first (hopefully last) audio expression of anything, just for being married to someone famous. Since when does nepotism extend through matrimony? And shouldn't it be limited to favoritism by the nepotismal connection? Politicians give their close friends jobs all the time, but typically they wouldn't be entered in an election, because they wouldn't win, because everyone else resents them. By giving increased legitimacy to this sort of thing, those who twice elected the latest George Bush (and to a lesser extent those who once elected Hillary Clinton) have ruined more than they've been told they have. I hate to think of an entertainment "industry" controlled entirely by dynastic rule. Oh, and a government too, I suppose.

I became aware of this about two days ago. As you may not know or have forgotten, I have a complicated routine of television noticing that I engage in while drawing stupid pictures, because certain programs that I began watching so long ago that I no longer remember why insist on breaking up their interesting portions with boring and/or annoying guests who, despite the scripted nature of their interviews, are typically just as I described them. On this particular occasion the first announced guest was Jennifer "Bride of Chucky" Tilly, who I know from past experience is worst than most people, places or things. As Conan's is the only show of this type that I am contractually obligated to view in its entirety, and this was not that show, I simply turned it off. That should have been the end, but the one I turned on was just about to introduce Kevin Federline, and then I typed the paragraph before this one. After dodging the both of them (people, not paragraphs), of course I'd be too weakened to avoid Nathan Lane on the third show. The whole thing was a conspiracy.

I remember two months ago I was about to emerge from a movie theatre, and it had been showing The Night Listeners, so I was already disappointed enough, when the film stopped rolling and a radio station made its way to the sound system and proudly introduced a Paris Hilton song. That's astounding! There are only 7 people who are allowed to be broadcast per month, and she gets to be one of them based on what? She isn't even related to anyone famous. Can anyone name her parents? They just had money. Paris Hilton is related to a business. She might as well have won on Wheel of Fortune, except that nothing she's done would suggest she has the skill to do so.

I realize it's unfair to dismiss Dr. Federleder before having heard any of his product, even if it seems like the right thing to do, but I do not need another egotistical rapper in my life. I don't even need one person who is either of those things. I'm totally through with both. Whether he's "good" or isn't, advance press, and that he has any despite having done nothing prior of note is part of the reason I presume he's egotistical, brings me the other part. You'll never silence your critics by recording harshly worded response albums, because that's one of the things I criticize people for doing.

Ooh, ooh. I hate that advertisement from a few years ago, in which a tallish man enters some store, and the attendant at a sales counter greets the man with "yo," and then the customer responds "yow." So to this the employee says "yo" again, and once more the potential buyer of something says "yow." It made me really mad. Not just that they kept saying "yo" to each other, but that one of them couldn't even manage it. Eventually the initial yoer brings in a third person, who also says "yo," and the second person still says "yow," just louder and more annoyingly, which made me even really madder. Arrrgh. I wanted the producer to send that twunk back to Texas and hire someone who can say the one quasi-word properly.

I thought the whole thing was another one of those pointless, bred to be trendy gimmick ads like the Budweiser "Wluzzzaaaahhhhh!" dipes, but I found out eventually, purely by accident, that the doof who couldn't say "yo" was not an actor, was playing himself, was named "Yao," and was saying his name. Ah ha. That's also stupid. He wasn't responding to the greeting, he was attempting to correct it, because he was sure the attendant recognized him, stupid arrogant lukewuff. I hate when ads try to be popular by using celebrities, especially when they use someone I don't recognize (and in this case who the other characters don't recognize), because they'd never choose someone they didn't think everyone would recognize, which means it's probably an American Idol contestant or Nascar driver or Osmond or something like that. This one, I'm told, is a basketball player. 'Ey! Not everyone watches basketball! This particular participant wasn't even wearing basketball clothing, so this means I would have had to be paying really close attention, and why would I do that? I was already giving it more perception than it was entitled to by not having MUTE mode on. Crispix, I doubt Mr. Yao is on every basketball team, so even if I liked that kind of thing I might not know. I am very knowledgable of the ways that I am ignorant!

I truly did overhear a human be quite impressed with the awful ad, gleefully wrapping up with "...because you couldn't not know who that is!" I DIDN'T! I DID NOT KNOW! AND I WISH I STILL DIDN'T! One thing I thankfully still do not know is what was meant to be sold. Ha ha, ho, you spent all that money hiring people I'm supposed to recognize outside their usual contexts and buying 80 airings per day and you didn't even achieve brand recognition! Ha ha ha!

Ha ha ha! Hee!

To be fair, however, not that they'd ever reciprocate my fairness, I also hate when I do recognize a celebrity, or if the ad tells me who it is. This is Eels Macinstrudel, a Geico customer. Eels is not an actor. And neither is Verne "Mini "one notable role in 1998" Me" Troyer, but here he is anyway, probably being a complete twit. I think Verne Troiuer or whatever should have a fight-to-the-death with Kathie Griffin and then whoever wins should be denied medical attention. I can imagine an extensive tournament of such fights. Flavor Flave, Fat Guy From the Sopranos, Little Whiny Guy Formerly of Sopranos, Andy Dick, Jennifer Tillya, sure, whoever's available. Considering the sorts of shows these people are typically seen on, I'm guessing they are. We may even be able to reuse promotional material from Celebrity Poker Hoedown for this. It won't stop Robin Williams, but I question whether a gaggle of land mines would stop Robin Williams. Bicentennial Man was not all fiction.

I wish I could say this was something I'd written up a long time ago, and so have one less of those lingering around, but it all came out just now, because I suddenly remembered how mad it made me. Stop making me mad!

The presence of a [totally uncontroversial] cake stricken with candles suggests some person's birth-date was passed recently. The presence of the cake at a bowling facility suggests it was not my own.
My most fond bowling memory ever is that time I stopped bowling and played the Ninja Turtle arcade video game. That I was invited on this occasion suggests that whoever's occasion it was has a direct, pity generating relation to me.

Overheard, by me, in the vicinity of restrooms: "-made me realize how bad I had to pee!""I gotta piss like a goddamn fuckin racehorse."
Note to someone: That there is not me saying those words. That is me quoting another human. That doesn't count. It does make me wonder why a horse would need to engage in both racing and fornicating to get an agitated bladder after being forsaken by a god. They don't make deities like they used to, I guess.

There are two ways to get in trouble at a bowling place. The first is to do something that violates an unstated rule but that makes a lot of people highly amused. The other way is to do something that violates an unstated rule but makes no one laugh. The second case is what I specialize at, in all places. If you've ever seen me on an internet message board, you know it, except off the internet it often doesn't make me laugh, either.
I'm definitely in someone's "disgruntled employee" livejournal now.

I did not play well. I was not expecting to, but for some reason it still made me a bit mad. Yes, I was throwing the ball strangely, but my reasoning was -or at least I have since convinced myself it was in the absence of any memory of having planned it- is that it's no fun to miss if you play the game properly. At least if I do it in an unusual way, I will have done that much. There were at least three times I threw the ball the normal way, and when those missed it made me slightly more mad. In the end, I won 31 points out of a possible much larger number.

Did you know that if someone knocks down all ten pins, it is given ten extra points for the next round? I did not. Know that or do that. That changes everything. I never had a chance. It seems unfair, and also totally unnecesary to give bonus points to the person who's winning already.

Do you see that arrow pointing at the diagram of the pins? No, probably not. I'm glad we have the technology to get such high resolution 500kb pictures that reveal nothing. Anyway, I don't appreciate that arrow trying to tell me what to do. Of course I'm supposed to hit the pins! I know that! You make it seem like the pins are right there next to me! They aren't! Stupid ignorant lying 1980s computer. I will have my revenge. There were a few times the computer erred and someone had to throw a third ball to let the thing know it should reset the pins. I was the only person who was granted a fourth try.

Evidence: Empty Ball Regurgitator.
I believe I collapsed nine pins in that round. Even Freddy Krueger on the left was better than I was, and I doubt he can hold the ball properly.

"Print" Pringles. I almost die ed getting you this picture.
Due to the tenacious disobedience of my replacement camera, getting a good picture of an object without impersonating a thunderstorm can require anywhere from three to sixty-seven tries. After a mere five, however, I was approached by who was, I assume, another customer. She asked, in a voice I have much imitated since then, "joo takin pictures 'vuss?" It was at this time that I realized how hard it is to explain to people that you are taking pictures of a can of pringles. Especially if you are afraid of people (in part due to their tendency to initiate such confrontations) and have a disobedient camera. What I should have said was "why? Are you doing anything that everyone else in here isn't?" Or maybe just "no." What I eventually said vaguely resembled the last few excuses I gave you, and I fear the person still thinks I was taking pictures of her. Well I wasn't! I checked, she isn't even visible next to the Pringles.

Ah yes, Pringles Prints. Such a stupid idea, it would be more logical to make Pringles Prince Charles, which would be most illogical indeed. While I suppose it could be a personal point of pride that I would eat someone else's words before my own, I'm not even sure I would eat these. If whatever those words are printed in cause cancer, of course we won't know until three years from now. Even longer if someone employed by Proctor and Gamble finds out first. In a fortunate irony, the cases will be minimal, because the people most likely to buy consumable objects because they have words written on them, let alone sports and "music" trivia, are the people least likely to be able to read (so I may not be written up in "The Bowl Blog" after all).

Friday, October 27, 2006

Nah man, I don't smoke weed. I smoke clowns like you on the Bee Ball Court.

Quite some time ago, there was mildly riotious behaviour incited by irresponsibly spread unvalidatable rumors that USAmerican Soldiers were flushing Korans down toilets. In defense of the I'm sad to say unsurprising riot behaviour, some people who thought they were being helpful asked "how would you Christians feel if people were flushing Bibles down toilets?" Well, now we can all find out.

For best results, of course, it is advised that you eat the entire cake at once and nothing else until the appointed hour. So how would it feel? My guess is quite relieving, eventually.

I only hope I have not misread the source material, and the accusations were actually of Koreans being flushed down toilets. That would be ridiculous and easily dismissible. They don't fit through the pipes.

This is actually not so significant a number as I would insist it was were I... you'd be surprised how many people, as the first four pages are actually only two real pages, and a few others were also divided to make the amount of content seem higher for the first time I put them online, because I was a stupid[er] moron. If we check the actual size and I say "we" because I haven't done it but know how you love to spite me this is surely more like 42, a number which really is not that special.

As for their presence here, for anyone who's been able to stick around that long (and I appreciate it, I really do, even if you skip these), this brings the grandiose total to 19 new pages in a year (actually, the one before marked 18 in a year, but I didn't bother to check the date of the first mention until now ehhg), spanning maybe about 10 minutes worth of imaginary time, and it will be three more minutes before something which might turn out to be interesting happens. If someone had been paying me money for this, that person would have stopped a long time ago.

I'm not one to attribute significance to mere transferred surnames which have long since lost any meaning, yet still I wonder if Brooke Hogan, daughter of Hulk Hogan (yes, that Hulk Hogan) realizes Vince McMahon* had as big a part in naming her as her parents did. Rather than Brooke Bollea or worse, she is named after a character (who is himself named after a character). Adam West might as well have named his childs after The Bat-Man. Considering how much of his post Bat-Man roles have involved acting or just speaking as characters who portrayed hero characters, often of similarity to Bat-Man, I'm a bit surprised he didn't.

Brooke Hogan, left. Had she not been the named performer, I would have assumed the man was the one with the album, by virtue of having more lines and looking less like the background dancers. Note, however, that I would not willingly attend a live performance of or aspire to resemble either of them.

Still, this is an example of understandable nepotism. Unlike Cakefed Spears, this Hogan is a direct relative, and was bred from a long time ago to be an overexposed yet indistinguishable billionaire blemish. She planned a recording career. Anyone legitimate merely hopes for one, and lists that second after artistic fulfillment. Brooke Hogan, on her fifteenth birthday recieved a box with an actual recording career inside it and a pony.
Her father (Brooke's, not the pony's, as far as I am aware) needed to pay the Marvel Comics people to use his own name. That's how famous he is. Wanting to pass that on is understandable, for the economical sake of getting maximum use of a purchase, and for the other economical sake of getting loads of money because people will buy things just because they are endorsed by a famous person, or made by a person endorsed by a famous person, and them both being named Hogan makes it harder to not notice. Think of Hulk Hogan like Oprah Winfrey (even if Oprah took more steroids) and Brook Hogan like Dr. Phil McGraw, except instead of McGraw her name is also Winfrey. I reckon her productions are of comparable quality, since she's as much a Hogan as Phil is a doctor. Yes, and they probably sing equally well, too.

*Vincent James McMahon, the elder, invented the name, but expelled Hulk Hogan from World Wrestling Federation in 1981. Hogan was only hired again once the younger Vincent Kennedy... Keh-neh-dae McMahon owned the company, so there's plenty of blame for both of them. Strangely, though surely the more vain/crazy of the two, Vince Junior named his son after someone other than himself. Someone presumably named "Shane."